


call it magic, or, not

by sparrowlingflight



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Dubious use of magic, Kinda, M/M, heisty fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:21:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25371541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrowlingflight/pseuds/sparrowlingflight
Summary: Something catches his eye, a flash of red, a deep burgundy among the brighter shades that adorn the streets. On the corner outside the nearby park, some kind of street performer has gathered a number of shoppers. A flourish of his hands and a burst of golden sparks fly out between his outstretched palms. Applause bubbles up among the onlookers and the performer smiles brightly, twirling in his long red coat to thank the crowd.--Or, inspired by Seoho in that long red coat: Seoho is a magician and a thief, Geonhak works at a museum.
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Lee Seoho
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

It's really too cold to be outside, or at least, the skies are grey enough and the wind is whipping through the leafless trees strongly enough for Geonhak to protest heartily when Youngjo insists on dragging him out for coffee.

"There's a perfectly good coffee machine in the office-"

"Quit whining," is Youngjo's unsympathetic reply, grip firm on Geonhak's shoulder, as if to keep him from running back to their warm, cosy office, which, to be fair, is one hundred percent on Geonhak's mind. He's starting to shiver a bit in his coat and has to ball his fists in his pockets in an attempt to remind his body to keep it together.

Geonhak's just not a winter person, at his core, given that it's just a few weeks into the season and he's already wearing a coat and three layers beneath, one of them a thermal. Youngjo on the other hand is looking spritely, the colour high in his cheeks and on the tip of his nose. It's not that he's got an affinity for the season; Youngjo just doesn't let the weather faze him.

"You owe me big time, remember?"

 _Big time_ refers to last week's weekly meeting, when Geonhak had been held up with a disobedient printer and desperately texted Youngjo to stall _by any means necessary_. When he'd finally made it to the meeting, red-faced and sweaty from running through the 'Time of the Dinosaurs' exhibit, drawing more than a few pairs of curious eyes on his way, he'd found Youngjo crying about a fake pet parrot to a captive audience made up of the museum's directors.

Youngjo hates birds.

Geonhak _does_ owe him big time.

The coffee shop that Youngjo's set on is a ways away and they cross through a couple of crowded streets, already festooned with sparkling cheery decorations for the upcoming holidays. It reminds Geonhak that he needs to start buying presents, or at least, make a note when he gets back to the office. It's more likely that he'll join the crowds making last minute purchases, but well.

Something catches his eye, a flash of red, a deep burgundy among the brighter shades that adorn the streets. On the corner outside the nearby park, some kind of street performer has gathered a number of shoppers. A flourish of his hands and a burst of golden sparks fly out between his outstretched palms. Applause bubbles up among the onlookers and the performer smiles brightly, twirling in his long red coat to thank the crowd.

Geonhak doesn't even realise that he's slowed down until he and Youngjo have come up to the edge of the crowd, though from a glance at the childish delight on Youngjo's face, their little detour is not entirely of his own volition.

There's a little placard and a box set up in the middle of the informal circle, promising a "little magic" and asking for any donations if they are so pleased. It seems that the promise on the placard was met; there's a few bills in the box and as Geonhak watches, a little girl scampers up to place another bill in, earning her a wide smile from the so-called magician.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you everyone for coming today!" He says, cheery, the hint of a giggle in his voice. He's easily Geonhak's height, possibly Geonhak's age, but there's something that reminds Geonhak of a child in his stance, in the fluttery movements of his hands and the beguiling curve of his eyes.

"Now, is there anyone here who likes flowers?"

A chorus of children sound off, raising their hands and swaying in their effort to be chosen for the next trick. Geonhak snorts a little and immediately regrets the derisiveness in its sound.

"Oh?" To Geonhak's immediate horror, the magician whips his head around to look at him. Next to him, Geonhak can hear Youngjo stifle a laugh, the traitor.

The magician beckons towards him, a touch imperiously, laughing when Geonhak doesn't move. "Ladies and gentlemen, please, a round of applause for this man," And here the curve of his eyes turns gleeful, and Geonhak is terribly, terribly conflicted.

The ensuing whoops and claps of well-meaning but misplaced encouragement are not exactly doing wonders for Geonhak's stage fright but he finds himself stepping out, helped along with a push from Youngjo, up to the magician who's smile only grows wider.

"Please don't pull them out of any weird places," Geonhak mumbles under his breath, hoping that the lingering noise from the crowd will cover his words. The magician only raises an eyebrow, in what is not the most reassuring way, instead casting an appraising eye over Geonhak instead. It'd been hot around his collar before, but now Geonhak's fully warm all over with embarrassment. He's sure his ears are bright red. At least he can't feel the wintry chill anymore.

"No promises," is what the magician says finally, pulling away to clap his hands and rein the crowd in. Looking over his shoulder in desperation, Geonhak's annoyed (and a little resigned, because really, what had he expected) to see Youngjo recording him with his phone. He even gives a little wave.

"So," The magician returns, circling Geonhak a little, the same wide smile on his face. "You like flowers!" The statement, not a question, draws a little laugh from the crowd.

Going for safe, Geonhak shrugs. "Who doesn't?"

"Do you have any favourites?" To keep him in his line of sight, Geonhak has to mirror the magician as he continues to circle him at arms length. Uncomfortably, he's reminded of the nature documentaries that Hwanwoong likes to watch, during his lunch break in the office, birds of prey and helpless little lambs running futile races across alpine hills. (Youngjo's theorized that it comes with the territory of working in the natural history wing but Geonhak just thinks that Hwanwoong likes the dramatics of such chases).

"Uh-"

"How about roses?" To his immense relief, the magician pulls a single red rose out from his sleeve, not Geonhak's. The crowd claps politely, and Geonhak's struck with the worry that _he_ should be clapping too, but does that make sense, he's complicit in this performance-

Offering the rose to a woman in the crowd, the magician spins back to Geonhak's space, cocking his head in contemplation.

"Not really a rose guy?"

"Not really a rose guy," Geonhak says in agreement. They tend to be a little too spiky for his liking, not that he noticed any spikes on the flower that the magician gave to the woman earlier. In any case, if Geonhak _had_ to choose a flower? It wouldn't be one that needed disarming.

The magician just hums in contemplation, like he's really trying to come up with the perfect flower for Geonhak. He turns to the crowd for suggestions, and Geonhak's amused to hear the eager cries of children again.

"A lily!"

"Daffodils! Yellow ones!"

"Ah, you like daffodils?" Kneeling down, the magician puts his hand next to a wide-eyed child's ear. Geonhak peers around his shoulder in curiosity.

"You've got some right here!" With a flourish, in his hand are a bunch of yellow daffodils. The child laughs to the rising applause from the crowd, and this time, Geonhak's not worried about whether he should be clapping or not. He's got to admire the mastery for that sleight of hand.

To the girl who wants lilies, he pulls a pink one out of her backpack. To an elderly grandfather, a little bouquet of forget-me-nots from his coat pocket. Youngjo has the audacity to ask for tulips and laughs at the look on Geonhak's face when the magician gives him three perfect tulips, yellow tinged with red. The applause builds continues and for a minute, Geonhak can feel his nervousness and apprehension bleed away, watching the magician spin around the crowd, red coat billowing in his wake, laughing at the look of wonder and excitement with every vibrant bloom he pulls out of his pockets, or out of ears, and little kid backpacks. He seems to favour ears though, Geonhak notices.

Finally, the magician rises to his feet to look back at Geonhak. After a beat, he snaps his fingers. "I know!"

Under his gaze, the wave of nervousness at being the centre of attention rises again, though Geonhak squashes it down as the magician crosses the circle back to him. Geonhak can't help but focus on the curve of his eyes. Maybe he can sense it because the magician smiles back, a little conspiratorially.

"What's this here?"

Geonhak's not the best under pressure, especially in new and unfamiliar situations. There's really no answer that he could have prepared to give for when the magician dips his hand into his coat, and even with three layers on, one of them a thermal, the brush of his hand is tangible. He might have made a squeak, it's a little bit of a blur in his head.

\--

"Okay," Youngjo has not stopped completely laughing since they left the magician's crowd, and has only now begun to transition to the occasional chortle as they enter the café. "I'll pay today."

"What?" Geonhak's still unnaturally warm and the looks he's getting from other customers in the store aren't really helping. "I owe you though."

Youngjo cracks up again, to Geonhak's ire and he has to resist shaking his friend. "Trust me, I'm good. Seeing you all adorable and flustered-"

"Hey," Geonhak says, more to stop Youngjo from saying anything else that's embarrassing and detrimental for his sanity, than any real threat to his person.

"Yeah, we're good. The price of my tears for my dead parrot has been paid. What do you want?"

Geonhak sighs and looks at the large sunflower in his hand, bright and cheery, a little out of place for the season. The café is warm and full of people in coats and woollen scarves, seeking shelter from the chill outside in cups of coffee.

He settles on a hot chocolate and adds on a chicken sandwich for lunch later to Youngjo's extra large caffeine monstrosity and pasta.

"Wait--"

"What is it?" Youngjo asks, raising his eyes from his phone. The tulips have been tucked into his front coat pocket, the bright colours a pleasant contrast to the dark brown.

Geonhak runs a hand down his coat again, more out of disbelief as reality sets in. "My wallet's gone-"

"Seriously-?" And it's obvious what's happened, so obvious, Geonhak's tempted to pinch himself. This is the kind of thing that only happens in dreams. Or, rather, nightmares.

"I'm gonna kill that guy," are his last words to Youngjo before he runs out of the shop.

\--

By the time he reaches the corner outside the park where the- _thieving con artist_ \- had been set up, the crowd that had been there when he and Youngjo left has dispersed, along with any trace of the magician, his placard and little box.

Swearing under his breath, Geonhak kind of just- paces in a circle, catching his breath and nursing the stitch in his side, trying to figure out whether it makes more sense to call the police or go to one of the nearby shops to ask if anyone has seen anything, when a familiar flash of red catches his eye.

Relief, and anger, are all mixed up in his chest as he crosses the road to where the magician is leaning up against a wall, a small smile playing on a face that is becoming more infuriating by the minute. There's a bubble tea in his hand, which Geonhak furiously hopes was not purchased with his card.

" _My wallet-_ " Helpfully, the magician holds it out immediately. Geonhak's not sorry for how abruptly he takes it back, rifling through it to check that its contents are where they're supposed to be and feeling immense relief to find that they are.

"You know," The sweetness in the magician's voice is a double edged sword and Geonhak's looks at him with narrowed eyes. The small smile on his face only widens, as if the magician is somehow charmed by Geonhak's best threatening face and not at all aware of the criminal nature of his actions.

"I thought you'd come back earlier." Geonhak scoffs in disbelief.

"I was waiting for you, then I got a little thirsty- don't worry, I used my own money for this. Recently paid, remember?" He picks up the money box at his feet and shakes it in lieu of explanation. Geonhak's mentally taking a note to check his bank account, and then maybe change the passwords to all his accounts later.

"Why would you do that? I should be reporting you-" Should? He will be reporting him, as soon as possible.

The magician just smiles, purses his lips, eyes flickering down to Geonhak's hand. "Did you like the sunflower?"

"What?" Geonhak had forgotten about the flower clutched in his hand, which, thankfully, did not look too bad given the run.

With a shrug, the magician takes a short sip of his drink before continuing.

"I wasn't sure if you were enjoying the show."

It's a little out of left field of Geonhak's expectations, but there's a touch of sincerity, an expectation in the magician's eyes that has him unsure of his footing. Again, Geonhak's not entirely sure of what to say; it's not like he owes him a reaction, especially given that the magician stole his wallet. His instinct says that he's got the moral high ground here, so why does he feel bad for the magician?

He's saved from coming up with a civil response, when the magician sighs.

"Guess you don't believe in magic."

"Uh- Of course?" Is that even a question? The magician- street performer, technically, shakes his head ruefully. Geonhak's reminded of a sandwich waiting for him in a café far, far away.

"Look- thanks for the sunflower, and the show." The tilt of the magician's head to one side somehow sets the curve of his eyes off even more. There must be some kind of mathematical, geometric explanation for it. Geonhak steps back to leave.

"I won't report you, just, don’t do it again," he says with no small amount of reluctance, though the magician hardly seems to have worried about it, merely giving a small salute in acknowledgement. There's not much else to say, and Geonhak really wants to have his lunch.

"Bye, then?" An awkward wave seems appropriate given the tone of the whole debacle and Geonhak's relieved when the magician returns it. Wallet safe in his pocket, Geonhak starts off at a run.

\---

The chill of the brick wall at his back has begun to seep into Seoho's skin, grounding him. Somewhere down the street, he can hear the chatter of the lunch time crowd, the inherent festivity of the season.

He'd been afraid that he would be cutting it close but thankfully, luck had been on his side.

Next to him, the shadow of a lamp post starts to thicken. Seoho finishes off his drink as the shadow begins to curl and flicker, writhing like a living thing until a young man steps out, up, onto the pavement, shaking off the lingering shadows.

Dongju's not the most forgiving person when it comes to deadlines, so Seoho's extra glad that he's managed to tie things up neatly with the mark- ah, Geonhak- before he arrived.

"Did you get it?" Dongju's also not the most tactful person to have walked this earth, but Seoho's used to this. It's grown on him, the way a regular abrasion gives one's thumbs calluses.

The 'it' in question is a replica of one Kim Geonhak's security clearance card for the Natural History Museum nearby. Seoho had not been confident that his little street performance would be enough to catch him; it'd taken him weeks of staking out the museum to figure out the routes Geonhak frequented on his way in and out of work. There had not been many options- Kim Geonhak turned out to be a creature of regular and unexciting habit. A little too self-aware for Seoho to feel comfortable about a regular pick-pocketing- he can hold his own in a fight, thank you very much, but he'd rather not have to fight to begin with. Especially when the opposition visits a gym nearly every day.

But Seoho's very good at what he does and he's always up for a challenge.

"Here." Producing it out of his pocket for Dongju's inspection, Seoho fake-yawns. "Hope you have a real challenge for me next time."

"Yeah, we do." Seoho raises an eyebrow.

"We need you to finish the job off alone."

Seoho's jaw is metaphorically on the ground. "That's not funny, Dongju."

For once in their long partnership, Dongju actually looks sympathetic. "We're stretched too thin right now. No one else can be spared to help out with this job. Keonhee's _still_ in Paris." Seoho knows Donju's only bringing up Keonhee because he's working a literal _hell_ of a job in the Parisian catacombs but that does not mean he's feeling appreciative.

Dongju can probably see that on his face. "The client is willing to pay double."

" _He's already seen my face._ " Seoho hisses.

"My condolences to him." Dongju deadpans, talking over Seoho's insulted wheezing like the devil he is. "Look, if anyone can make it work, you can. You've already got the card, just...figure it out."

"Dongju-"

"Can you do it?" Dongju's not looking at him, instead snapping his fingers, having chosen the shadow of a post box for his portal. Seoho sighs. Runs the numbers in his head as a habit. Brings up Geonhak's face in all its angry righteousness.

He takes back the replica of the security card from Dongju's outstretched fingers.

"Excellent."

"I want triple the original pay." This does not faze Dongju at all, merely nodding in acknowledgement.

Instead, he merely gives a wave over his shoulder, more focused on the writhing shadows at his feet. "We need to get together when you two are done with your jobs; lunch, my treat." With that, Dongju steps forward and gets swallowed up by the shadows.

That leaves Seoho, alone, on a street corner surrounded by the distant sounds of wintry festivities with Geonhak's security card in hand. He stuffs it in his pocket, a little irritated at the outcome of his afternoon, but mostly calm, part of his mind already casting up schemes for the job.

He's not getting anything else done today; Geonhak looks like the type to hold a grudge and Seoho sighs at the thought of trying to appease that in order to get into the museum.

At least, he'll have some flowers at home today. 


	2. Chapter 2

Hwanwoong laughs for five minutes straight, when Youngjo and Geonhak arrive back at the office (late) and laughs even harder when Youngjo eagerly outlines the whole mishap with the magician- nope, sorry,  _ conman _ .

There's an hour long meeting that Geonhak (thankfully) has to attend (escape) to and then he's down in the archives, talking to the resident geologist, about the content for a new exhibit on the history of the earth's formation. It's always nice to be talking to someone as passionate about their fields of study as he is. Yonghoon is particularly enthusiastic about this topic, pulling out rocks from cabinets that line his back wall of the lab to pour his treasures into Geonhak's hands- jet black meteor chunks from Australia, sedimentary rocks from American gorges, slate slabs from China with the faintest hint of a bird's skull embedded and fossilised within.

Geonhak's a little shy about handling some of the specimens, but Yonghoon shakes his head, insisting that it's important.

"To touch something, to really touch something," Eyes sparkling, Yonghoon places an amethyst geode, violet and vibrant in Geonhak's hands. "is to love it."

Geonhak's conversations with the specialists attached to the museum tend to be meandering and overflowing with information and personal history. He likes to think that the little personal touches help him with the final design for the exhibits.

What this also means is that Geonhak doesn't really see Hwanwoong, or Youngjo, until later in the week, when they're up to their calves in early 19th century China. Youngjo's leading the project but today, he's enlisted Hwanwoong and Geonhak for manual labour. There's promise of a meal sometime later, maybe.

Hwanwoong cheerily waves to him when he approaches, then shoves superglue and a tiny paintbrush into his hands. "Shoes off and get in here."

"Bossy," is what Geonhak mumbles under his breath, but only so Youngjo can hear, before complying. Dioramas are fun to do, intricate and bedeviled with details, so Geonhak really enjoys getting put on a project with these, since it asks for his utmost concentration. Hwanwoong appears to not have that consideration in mind.

"I've never seen a street artist around here, -- did you say outside the park?" Youngjo nods absentmindedly, focused on painting glue to the base of a miniature cart and donkey. The cart has little buns in it for sale. This particular diorama is sunken into the floor and when it's finished, visitors will be able to walk around and view the little city from above, complete with signboards and buttons that illuminate certain sections to help outline their function and historical significance.

"Conman," Geonhak corrects Hwanwoong, trying not to feel so torn at the memory of the encounter. The sunflower is sitting at home in a drinking glass half-filled with water, somehow as bright and cheery that morning as it was the day he'd received it. It clashes with the overall aesthetic of his apartment; gun-metal greys and functional whites and blacks, in a way that makes Geonhak wonder if he really does need more colour in his life, a thought that gets voiced in Youngjo's tone.

Sure, logically, and with all fairness, nothing of real consequence had happened; Geonhak had checked all his accounts and changed his passwords when he'd gotten back home. He should be counting himself lucky and moving on, but the memory of the magician's face, burgundy red coat twirling in his wake, will rise up every now and then and Geonhak's seized with a mixture of emotions that he's not looking at too closely, for they feel rather inappropriate to be directed to someone who stole his wallet without Geonhak noticing, and then said he'd  _ waited for him to come back _ with a sweetheart smile that reached his eyes. The press with which the little cobbler gets attached to a street of shops is a little more forceful than is necessary.

Youngjo carefully attaches the little cart and donkey to the cobblestoned street and looks knowingly up at Geonhak.

Hwanwoong sighs wistfully. "Wish I'd been with you. I could do with something fun right about now, it's so cold outside right now."

"Trust me, I think you're better off without it." Geonhak says firmly. If only he could say the same about himself.

\--

Keonhee crashes through Seoho's door at 4 am, which would normally be a problem for a Seoho trying to sleep but, luckily for Keonhee's bodily wellbeing at least, Seoho's been operating on nocturnal hours of late. Not that he thinks Keonhee would have acted differently out of any consideration for his beauty sleep, because his default settings are  _ loud _ and  _ obnoxious _ .

"Ow!" That's the sound of Keonhee's shins colliding with Seoho's couch and Seoho's bemused to see Keonhee faceplanting onto said couch when he looks up from his work, sparklingly blue hair and long limbs moving in one big tangle of motion.

He's actually quite graceful when he wants to be but other times (most times), Keonhee's the embodiment of  _ knees weak, arms spaghetti _ , and Seoho's seen him trip so many times on thin air, those words might as well defining physical trait of his.

" _ Owwwwww _ ."

Seoho puts the roses in hand back into a wicker basket. "Wow, you look like shit."

"Thanks darling," Keonhee groans from the depths of the couch, pulling himself up and out with much effort. "Tell me my dark circles look like the night sky, that my pallid skin matches the moon in its pearlescent lustre-"

There's a packet of cheap supermarket branded cookies left over from dinner which Seoho has been nibbling on through the night. He offers one to Keonhee, who shoots him an offended look, bypassing his hand to pointedly grab the whole tray of cookie varieties.

Ignoring the dramatic moans of satisfaction with which Keonhee eats, Seoho's glad to see that he doesn't look  _ too _ battered from his time in Paris. He settles back in his armchair. "Did you find the ghost yet?"

" _ No _ ." Keonhee throws his hands in the air. "God, did I, or did I not, tell you to not talk to me about the stupid ghost? I distinctly remember telling you to  _ not  _ ask me about how that stupid ghost is or is not-"

"Ah," Seoho says, feigning innocence, just to see the red rise up on Keonhee's ears. "I must have forgotten."

" _ Forgotten, _ my ass- you ask me about the stupid ghost every time I see you, like I would be visiting your sorry excuse for a face if I actually got the ghost-"

Here, Keonhee launches into a tirade that Seoho's been hearing variations on for the past six months, give or take. He can sympathise; catacombs, as a rule, make for a terrible work environment but chasing a ghost that flees at the slightest hint of mortal energy is a nightmare that even he couldn't have dreamed up. 

Once Keonhee's finished monologuing in explicit detail how much he hated said ghost and the things he plans on doing once he catches said ghost, he falls quiet, like in all of a sudden. Seoho offers a cup of tea, sending it floating through the air on its saucer. It's chamomile, meant to promote relaxation. 

"Thanks." Seoho pours his own cup and lets the teapot go, gently hovering around the room, emitting soft wisps of steam.

Keonhee sips long and slow, apparently having finally having exorcised enough vitriol from his system to take in the rather, crowded, state of Seoho's little apartment, judging from the way his eyes slowly widen.

"I was practicing," is Seoho's attempt at curbing Keonhee's full questioning.

"You? Practicing?" Keonhee gestures around the room at the abundance of sunflowers. To be honest, it's a little amazing that he's only noticed them just now.

Seoho's vain enough to be proud of his work; there's a nice range of variation among the flowers but all petals are a pleasing shade of golden-yellow and they stand straight in the various vessels that Seoho had scrounged up, crowding up every available surface in the living room and kitchen counter in sunbursts of color.

They certainly match the pink chintzy wallpaper; the landlord was an elderly lady who lived on the first floor and the decor certainly matched her grandmotherly aesthetic, full of antique looking floral prints and decidedly unsexy lacy trimmings. The whole place smells slightly musty, like mothballs. With the sunflowers, the room feels reminiscent of a Van Gogh-esque painting, though maybe a rather unsuccessful, less aesthetically pleasing one. Seoho's very fond of the decor.

Picking up a chunky vessel with both hands to scrutinize the flowers a little closer, Keonhee scoffs in disbelief. "Did you forget what a sunflower looked like or something?"

"Or something." Seoho says amiably. Something has more piercings on his left ear than his right and dark steel-blue hair, and is probably walking around the city with the same disgruntled pout that he'd left Seoho with. Perhaps at the gym, come to think of it. Taking out his frustration on a punching bag.

Keonhee looks perturbed, apparently performing mental gymnastics to figure out how flowers could possibly be utilised before giving up. In Seoho's defence, it's not the weirdest thing he's done for a job.

"Dongju said you're alone on the job this time around." Keonhee rattles his fingers meaningfully against his teacup. "Isn't that a  _ little _ weird?"

"I'll be fine." Seoho says breezily. He's done jobs by himself but his talents are truthfully more suited for laying the groundwork for some more hands-on experts to get messy with. Manifestation is a little tricky to disguise in plain sight, and Seoho's had to get creative on-the-go many a time, with slight of hand and large flowy clothing.

"Hmph. First I get downgraded from Ritz Carlton suites, now you're flying solo on a job meant for three,  _ at least _ . Dongju has some explaining to do." Keonhee crosses his arms, pensive. "What's the haul, again?"

"A diamond,"

"Nice."

"It's cursed."

"Ooooohhhh,  _ nice _ ," Keonhee perks up, curling his long limbs underneath him.

"I don't know what it's cursed with." Dongju had provided a photocopy of a couple of papyrus scraps, obtained from who-knew-where. What little was legible on the paper was cryptic and prosaic, deeply unhelpful to Seoho. It was like the photos had been taken with a potato.

Chomping on a cookie, Keonhee looks visibly more cheered up at the prospect of Seoho facing problems. "Mystery diamond quest, cool."

"Stop trying to make every job a video game level."

"How are you getting in?" Seoho tosses the dupe of Geonhak's security card at Keonhee, who studies it with a professional interest, sees him note the shine of the finish and crispness of the edges. Seoho's willing to bet that if he were to compare Geonhak's actual card with the dupe, the dupe would look more convincing, every detail Seoho'd absorbed in hand replicated and amplified, from the curling corners of the laminated cover to the patina on Geonhak's photo.

Getting easy will be made simple with the card; the tricky part is what comes after. 

The museum is far too large for Seoho to even consider searching blindly; between the laboratories, workshops, warehouses, exhibits and restaurant, cafes spaces open to the public, the greenhouses, libraries and theatres within, there are an impossible number of places for a diamond the size of a baby's fist to be hidden. Somewhere, among priceless thirteenth century jade and porcelain bowls, Florentine glassware and countless, countless taxidermy mounts of tigers, whales and extinct animals, is a diamond  _ unlike no other, a Heart of Flames _ . At least, that's what the  _ papyrus _ says.

What Seoho needs is time to triangulate; narrow the range that he needs to search. Which is where Keonhee will hopefully come through.

"Oh," Keonhee looks up from where he's poring over the maps of the grounds and floors that Seoho's pulled over from the heavy wooden desk. " _ I see. _ "

Seoho just smiles, waiting. Keonhee purses his lips, considering.

"What exactly do I get, working double time?"

"I'll get you a new Burberry jacket."

Keonhee sticks his hand out to shake. "Done, yes, thank you." Seoho shakes his head.

"Tell me what you need to do first."

"Well, first off, we need to be on site to lay some things down." Keonhee picks up the papyrus photocopy, curling his lip in distaste. "I can get some cursed blood for the  _ curse _ aspect of this-"

"Do we need an  _ actual _ diamond?"

"I think that would be best, yes." Pulling out a battered notepad, Keonhee scribbles down some notes, dimensions and volumes. Seoho makes a note to call Dongju for a diamond. He's bound to have some emergency ones on hand.

"I'll be underground for a couple of weeks to set a new trap- if it doesn't work, I'll be crying, so just warning you in advance. When I'm done I'll come over and we can do a recon at the museum."

"Ah- about that." Geonhak's irritated face swims into Seoho's mind again.

"The mark saw my face- yeah, I know, but I thought I'd be off the job afterwards. It would have made for a good distraction, don't you think, if he was still irritated about a pickpocket when the next person came on the job?"

Keonhee shakes his head and sighs loudly. "You think you're smart but sometimes you are so, so,  _ dumb _ . So what are we going to do, I'm definitely not going to be walking around in there alone, we're going to need a distraction while I do-"

Here, Keonhee waggles his fingers.

"I'm not forking money out for a shapeshifting charm; that shit's expensive."

Seoho had thought about that but shapeshifting charms had never really suited him; he'd found the glamours to rest a little itchily on his skin, particularly if they weren't well made, and the well-made ones cost an eye and a nose. Potions for a more lasting, physical transformation were even harder to source and required more paperwork than Seoho was comfortable with.

No, Seoho had a simpler plan in mind, one that had Keonhee sighing even louder and facepalming.

"That's stupid." He said at last, massaging his temples. "But I  _ guess _ it'll work, since it's you."

"Hey,"

"Take the L and accept it as a compliment, why don't you?"

"It might be time for you to go,"

"Rude much?"

"No," Seoho gestures to the window, to the bright full moon and the inky sky, just transitioning to a deep blue. "Moonlight's fading."

"Ah, I didn't think it was so early." Keonhee stretches his arms over his head and jumps up. Seoho resists the urge to tell him to stop stomping his feet around the apartment so much, lest he get a noise complaint from the tenants below.

Keonhee snags one last cookie for the road and pauses. "Oh, I forgot."

"What?"

Out from his jacket pocket, Keonhee sticks his whole arm in a way that physics probably disagrees with, and pulls a bakery box, fine and decorated with filigree and Parisian decadence. "Might be a little squished, sorry."

"You little shit," Seoho takes the box, delighted. It'll make for a good breakfast.

"Thanks, I try." Keonhee approaches the front door, where a mirror hangs, facing the window and the moon outside. "See you when I get out of hell."

"Have fun!" Seoho waves eagerly in the face of the rather rude hand gesture Keonhee holds up in return. One touch to the mirror and Keonhee vanishes in a flash of silvered moonlight.

In the absence of another person, a certain stillness falls, the one that comes in the witching hours of the night. Seoho cricks his neck and looks inside the box; a black forest gateaux and several French-looking pastries. Eclairs and fanciful tarts.

They all go into his fridge for a delicious breakfast, whenever he wakes up, and Seoho surveys his quarters feeling pleased at the prospect.

He sits down at his desk, pulling paper and pen together and pondering how best to word a letter to Dongju to ask for one of his precious diamonds.

\-----

The weeks pass quietly. Seoho's awakened one morning with a rather insistent tapping at the window and opens it to find an oversized raven, who jumps in with a package tied to one of its feet. Gingerly undoing the knot releases the raven, who immediately takes flight out the way it came, unnervingly quiet as it swoops through the snow covered streets. Seoho takes a fortifying breath of icy air and closes the window.

Dongju had sent a sizeable diamond as big as Seoho's thumbnail, flawless and set in gold with a message to keep the diamond on his person at all times lest he lose it, which Seoho snorts at, though compared to Dongju's other exacting orders in the past, it's not exactly a burden to keep such a shiny prize on hand. In fact, it's almost unlike him to  _ not _ send anything more than the brief instructions; Seoho had been expecting a litany of threats to his body, soul and mind to keep Dongju's possessions safe and sound.

He spends a good amount of time ogling the gem, trying to estimate its value, taking a picture and sending it to Keonhee, a message that goes unread like so many he's sent that it's likely he's down in the darkness where modern communication won't reach. He'll have a lot of messages to go through when he surfaces; Seoho'd sent at least a dozen memes.

There's a loop at the back of the gold setting that allows for a simple chain to be threaded through. Seoho hangs the necklace around his neck and admires the sparkles against his skin.

\----

Geonhak's on the way to the supermarket after a morning gym session when he passes the florist's shop and stops.

After a momentary hesitation, he pushes open the door and walks into the sudden humidity and warmth, involuntarily shuddering as the icy winter chill is chased from his bones. It's been snowing regularly for the last couple of weeks now, much to Geonhak's misery.

The display in the shop does not seem to be aware of the weather outside, given how full it is of huge sunflowers, bright and cheerful. The amount of yellow is almost an eyesore to Geonhak and he can't help but think of the sunflower at home, still, somehow fresh without a hint of wilting that Geonhak thinks might be unusual of flowers. He's not bought enough to know, though and he's not entirely sure he should trust the abundance of well-meaning and probably inaccurate advice online.

All he knows is that he tops up the glass in which his flower sits every couple of days and it remains, well, sunny. Hasn't even lost a petal.

"Hello, dear, can I help you with anything?"

The elderly owner potters out from a back room, holding a vase that's at least twice her size with ease. Geonhak makes an aborted gesture to take it from her, only eliciting a chuckle as she waves her fingers in a way that means she's got it. Still, Geonhak keeps a couple of steps behind her as she makes her way to the counter to place the vase down, before peering up at him through lenses that magnify her eyes.

Geonhak might be staring a bit, before he realises that he needs to give her an answer.

"I, um-" Quickly waving a hand around the shop, Geonhak stammers, "I'm just looking."

Nodding in understanding, the grandmother picks up a spray bottle. "The sunflowers? They're beautiful aren't they? A young man gave them to me, handsome boy. Didn't even charge for them, and these aren't in season."

"Uh-" There's way too much of a coincidence for these sunflowers not to have come from the same source as the singular flower sitting in Geonhak's apartment.

"Can I ask who he is? In case- I work at the museum and sometimes we need to source flowers for events." That's a complete lie- the last part at least. The museum is usually able to contract someone to handle these sorts of things, instead of doing so directly.

The grandmother pauses, thinking. "That's funny, I don't remember asking for his name. He said he was just passing through, would be gone soon."

Geonhak's blood boils at her next words. "He was wearing a long red coat, if that helps at all."

\---

There's something magical about winter, the way it erases the fine details of the world in a blanket of snow that falls as evenly as icing sugar. Sounds tend to be more muffled as well, though nothing could muffle the excited shrieks of children, running around with snowballs in hand. Seoho can't really resist when he passes by, discretely flicking a finger to dump a load of snow on unsuspecting teens, laughing to himself at their exclamations of surprise.

One thing Seoho's found on his travels is that shopping malls around the world tend to blur into the same limitless mazes, breathlessly crammed with people and more merchandise than he could ever hope to pay attention to. Today, he's got some aid against being hopelessly distracted and lost; purpose.

He makes a stop in the first hair shop he finds with the aid of the helpful directory then makes his way to the more upscale wing of the mall.

Keonhee's tastes have always run towards the more luxurious end of the scale, not that Seoho can say otherwise about himself, but he finds satisfaction in achieving luxury with items that are more affordable. Several comfortable second-hand sweaters and his favourite long red coat, like wine-coloured velvet attest to this.

For Keonhee though, Seoho enters a store with fancy doors and a uniformed assistant who asks if he's looking for anything in particular.

Seoho smiles, as charmingly as possible. "I'm just looking, thank you." The diamond pendant around his neck swings under the collar of his shirt, hidden by his sweater.

The assistant smiles and leaves to attend to another customer, leaving Seoho to his own devices.

A trenchcoat stands out to Seoho, dark and sleek looking, with silver accents. It's not something that Keonhee owns and definitely something that will fit his closet.

Seoho runs his hands over the thick wool, feels the cotton lining. Memorises the detailing on the epaulettes, the length of the belt and the feel of the stiff collar. Closes his eyes and dreams up the coat in its entirety in his head, links it to the feel and weight of it in his hands, the smell of marbled stands and metallic accents.

"Excuse me sir?" Seoho opens his eyes, blinks a bit to clear his vision of sparks. The attendant smiles widely at him, hopeful. "Are you interested in trying this piece on? It's very well made."

"Ah, no, thank you." Letting the coat run through his fingers one last time, Seoho lets go. He's got what he needs from it anyway.

"By any chance, could you show me one of your bags?"

The attendant blinks in confusion.

\----

The sunflower remains persistently perky. Geonhak has a mug of hot chocolate in hand, an instant mix, staring at it like the answers to the odd events of late will materialize in front of him if he stares long enough.

Youngjo sighs deeply from his seat the other side of the table, swirling his own mug. His has coffee, from a little bottle of instant that he insists Geonhak keep at his place for him, refusing to have to drink something sweet every time he visits.

"When you called me over, I thought we were going to play Mariokart, or something that I have a chance at winning at. I did not walk through knee-high piles of snow to listen to your mid-life crisis over a mildly attractive stranger."

Geonhak sputters. "That's not what this is! Hey!"

Youngjo does the thing with his mouth, where it purses in such a way that his cupid's bow becomes slightly feline. "Sure it is 'Hak."

"I just think it's weird-- I get my wallet stolen by someone who gave me a sunflower, and suddenly the florist's full of sunflowers that look exactly like this one--" Well, roughly. Geonhak really means that the sunflowers in the shop and on his table had a certain vibrancy to them, like they regularly ran 5k marathons and drank kale juice.

"--and they were supplied by a guy in a _ long red coat _ , which is what the conman was wearing that day." Youngjo looks unimpressed.

"And I ask again- what about it? You sound like those guys who investigate conspiracy theories about aliens and crop circles. It could be a different person."

"I've never seen anyone with a coat like that one."

"That's not surprising, you don't  _ really _ have an eye for fashion."

"It's  _ weird _ ."

"It's really not." Youngjo returns, stretching his legs out in front of him. "This is just life, dude. Sometimes weird things happen, and you can't explain why."

Geonhak's pretty easy-going most of the time but he's also stubborn when he wants to be. He also really trusts his gut and he's usually got instincts that don't lead him astray, that led him through a mostly aimless college degree and into a career that he likes enough to have pursued graduate studies for.

So he's not about to stop listening to himself.

Youngjo listens to roughly half of that explanation then cuts him off to complain about his choice in decor ("---why are all of your plates  _ plain white _ Hak, it's boring to look at--") before adding on;

"I think it's really unfair that you're still talking about a stranger you met  _ weeks _ ago but you still don't remember my birthday. You remember Hwanwoong's! I got you this job!"

And at that point, Geonhak's got to simultaneously reassure him, and bring him back to earth on his importance in Geonhak's life. Would-be magicians and conmen have to wait for another day.

\---

Keonhee loves the jacket- he'd better, given the work it had taken to replicate it. He keeps running his hands over the cuffs, fingering the silverwork there. That pleases Seoho; every replication is slightly complicated in its own way, requiring a certain level of absorption into the details of the object. Designer wear is fun in a way, full of little signature hand work that is supposedly impossible to replicate. 

Seoho likes proving such things wrong.

"So, there's the courtyard, here's the café-- we need to go up." Keonhee's wearing pink quartz that dangles on his right ear and it keeps reminding Seoho of someone else with interesting ear jewellery. He can't tell if the quartz is for today's work, or just for Keonhee's taste.

The central heart of the museum is a particularly pretty gallery, full of blue-and-white porcelain and celadon jade pieces, lacquerware inlaid with mother-of-pearl and lined with gold paint. Seoho's fingers itch to touch them, to feel a thousand years physically immortalised in tangible treasure. He's fairly sure that he's never had to make a dupe of something like them before.

"Right, here we are."

Seoho detaches himself from Keonhee's side, making his way for archway that makes up the other end of the hall. There are only two ways in and out of this exhibit and he loiters until the room empties into a lull where only him and Keonhee are in the room.

From his pocket slips out a handful of little walking tin soldiers that spring up and run for the archway, the charms inlaid on their back glowing.

At the other side, Keonhee should be doing the same, releasing the deterrents spelled to keep people away from the exhibit. Should they head in this direction, they will suddenly be overcome with an urge to visit the gift shop on the floor below, perhaps rush to the bathroom.

The room is dimly lit, probably for the preservation of such fragile artefacts. Seoho reaches into his jacket, one with spelled pockets that hold far more than they should, and pulls out a jar of luminous butterflies.

"I'm letting them go now," he tells Keonhee, waiting until he gets an affirmative nod in return, from where Keonhee's kneeling on the floor, setting up a pentagram printed on a large piece of cloth. An instant pentagram, to save the time it would take to paint one.

When he pops the lid on the mason jar, the butterflies stream out, their glow dissipating until they are invisible in the dim lighting, fluttering in all directions, heading out to cover the museum's grounds.

Walking over to where Keonhee's kneeling in on the pentagram-cloth, a twinkling cluster of dots appear on the blueprint of the museum that Seoho had printed and marked off, spreading out across the paper.

"Huh, glad they work." Seoho stows the jar away, in the same pocket from which it came. There's a delicate ordering to his pockets and he wants to make sure that he doesn't mess his system up accidentally.

Keonhee's painting symbols on the back of his hands with black ink. "You should have more faith in living things, Seoho."

Seoho shrugs, leaning up against the wall to watch fascinatedly. "There're less variables with inanimate objects."

"That's the point." Keonhee flaps his hands, trying to speed up the drying process. "Right, it's going to be a while before they get settled. I'm going to start tracking."

"Do you have everything?" Seoho unlocks the diamond from around his neck and places it in Keonhee's outstretched hands, careful to avoid the drying ink.

"Yeah, I think I do now-- let's see, diamond, cursed blood," a vial floats out of his pocket, dark and full of a viscous liquid.

"--and amplifiers." Several objects float out of his pockets; a golden charm that shimmers like a snake's scales in the light, a lump of dull metal, among others. The pink quartz on his ear joins the little collection too.

Information on the mark is particularly important for Keonhee's work; the more information, the better he's able to imitate certain elements with substitutes. For today's cursed diamond; a diamond and someone's curse. Probably Harin's, Keonhee's usual supplier.

With those elements, Keonhee's hope is to track the target that holds all the components separately embodied in his pentagram, though technically the spells he constructs chase the closest object to meet such characteristics of the objects he holds. Hence the need for specificity.

"How's it going with the ghost?" Keonhee doesn't answer straightaway, pensive.

"Not good?"

Keonhee shakes his head slowly. "More like confusing...I set the trap with more sage and thyme, a couple of gold rings, but I'm not feeling lucky. I may have to get Dongju involved."

"He might come." He's equally likely to refuse to step into the field but Seoho thinks Dongju's always had a soft spot for Keonhee. It comes from all the screaming over nothing that he does.

Keonhee just grumbles under his breath, waving his hands to set the various items around him spinning in orbits that don't overlap, like he's a planet with many moons.

"Okay, I think," Keonhee squints down at the map between his feet. "--you can start walking around now. Here," He hands Seoho a lump of crystalline rock, smooth and luminously blue, which he slips into his pocket, feeling it pulsating and warm in hand, slow and steady, like a strange heart.

The lights indicating the butterflies have begun to cluster on the map, drawing closer to the outlines of the building, moving to a far away wing, as the objects around Keonhee begin to move a little faster, creating a vortex that slightly moves his hair.

Seoho takes one last glimpse of him, watches the ghostly moonlight spark up in his eyes, transforming the ink on his hands into glowing rivers of silver that cast fantastical shadows around the room, before he slips out and heads for the rightmost wing of the museum.

\---

Geonhak's on the main stairs that connect all floors of the museum, huge and built of steady sandstone, when he sees him on the floor above. 

His hair is different, blond instead of inky black, but there's no denying the resemblance, even if his hair covers his forehead instead of framing his face and he sports a kind of blazer instead of that long red coat that had stuck in Geonhak's mind so vividly. Somehow, the curve of his eyes still seems sweet, from this far away.

The would-be magician slips past a crowd of schoolchildren and to Geonhak's eyes, seemingly vanishes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keonhee is like...really fun to write?? also shout out to dongju and keonhee for just radiating such energy this comeback wooooooo go oneus. 
> 
> As always, apologies for anything weird in text. My fave part of this is "they [sunflowers] regularly ran 5k marathons and drank kale juice."

**Author's Note:**

> -thanks for reading!- 
> 
> I'm not the best at committing to writing fic but if you liked this, please leave a comment! 
> 
> And yes, this is mostly thanks to the pictures of Seoho in that red coat.


End file.
